


Glow

by Starvoidd



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, POV Lance (Voltron), POV Second Person, Pining Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starvoidd/pseuds/Starvoidd
Summary: As you let yourself drown in him, you’re reminded that he deserves so much more than what has been handed to him. So, so much more.He deserves the world, you think – and its moments like these where you wish you could give it to him.





	Glow

Keith has fallen asleep on your lap, head resting on your thighs, body strewn out lazily across the length of your bed. The ending credits of some old Altean film are rolling down the TV screen, the apparent theme tune playing quietly in the background. He was out cold for the last thirty minutes though; you could tell when he was dozing off, because sometimes his leg would give a small twitch, and the huffs of breath on your bare legs began to even out. Become slower. Steady.

His profile is glowing softly. The light of the TV traces his face and jaw in a hazy pink, and you follow the slope of his nose and the gentle curve of his mouth with your eyes like you would a landscape; his forehead a plateau, curving down towards his lips, rounded and warm, before the sharp slant of his jaw, a hard edge to contrast the softness in his cheeks.

You don’t think you’ve ever mapped out his features this closely before, but as you do, something warm washes over you.

You think not for the first time that he is so quietly beautiful.

His glasses, that he almost never wears, are skewed on the bridge of his nose, and in them you see the film credits continuing to roll – through them, his eyelashes flutter for a moment, and his eyebrows move almost imperceptivity. On impulse, you bring your hand up and trace his jaw yourself, feeling the day-old stubble under your fingertips, fuzzy yet soft. You let them roam over his face, merely a feather touch, ghosting over his lips and tucking a strand of his behind his ear; you can feel the heat radiating out from his skin, and you shiver, because like this he is so vulnerable – so raw. So unguarded. The tension that usually scars his face is all but gone, lifted away by the hazes of sleep, leaving him looking peaceful for the first time in too long.

You wish it didn’t take sleep to render him this way. You wish he could be this calm, this untroubled when he awakes, though you know that when the clouds disperse, those lines of worry will creep back onto his forehead, and his body will tense on autopilot, just in case.

Just in case.

It makes something inside of you harden, and your next inhale is shaky, because as you let yourself drown in him, you’re reminded that he deserves so much more than what has been handed to him. So, so much more.

He deserves the world, you think – and its moments like these where you wish you could give it to him.

You’re selfish, and you let him sleep for a while longer, but eventually you have to wake him up. You shake his shoulder gently, calling his name – once, twice – before he’s suddenly jerking upright, eyes wide, his gaze flickering about the room. His breath is heavy, forehead lined, and a part of you wishes you could’ve let him sleep forever. You want to draw him back to you, lay his head back on your lap, run your hands through his hair until he falls back into a dream where the fate of so many lives doesn’t rest on his shoulders. A dream where, perhaps, you and he can live out the rest your lives together in peace.

But perhaps not. Perhaps he dreams of his parents, wherever they may be – or of Shiro, strong and steadfast in his leadership.

Perhaps, you think, he doesn’t dream at all.

The thought is too sad to linger on for too long.

Instead of coaxing him back into slumber, you give him a small pat on the shoulder, gently telling him the time. He wants to leave, of course, because it’s getting late – far too late to be entertaining you with whimsical daydreams of something that will never be. You have to remind yourself of this as he pries himself from your bed, still sleep hazed as he collects his bayard and slips quietly out into the corridor.

And just like that, he’s gone.

You let your eyes linger on the point of his disappearance, the image of his face illuminated by the screen burned into your retinas – the way he left without a word replaying over and over and over until you can do nothing but lie back and feign sleep until it takes you.

 

 

In the moment before it does, you don’t think you’ve ever loved him more.

**Author's Note:**

> aye I kinda want to die


End file.
